


Midnight Train

by BuckityBuckBarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Oneshot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Profanity, Reader-Insert, Romance, Runaway, White Wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 17:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckityBuckBarnes/pseuds/BuckityBuckBarnes
Summary: Two strangers catch a late-night train. One runs away from life while the other is simply coming home. The two confide in each other, because sometimes, two stray dogs can relate better than anyone else.





	Midnight Train

**Author's Note:**

> Will most likely not upload all of my works from Tumblr even if I am deleted on there, but I'm uploading a few I think are pretty good.

“If you could describe your life in one word, what would it be?”

Ah, Jacie, ever the party-goer. It is a good thing that you took French in high school.

“C’est ennuyeux,” you reply, holding your half-emptied wine glass.

She smiles politely. “I’m sorry?”

Knowing full well that she (nor ninety percent of the party) spoke French, you give a guarded smirk. “I’m doing absolutely fantastic. So one word? Fantastic.” What was one lie to this materialistic dame? She didn’t give two shits about you. None of them did. They only spoke to you because you were the wife of some philanthropist.

How boring.

Staying here in Chicago was becoming a chore – a hell, even. Your marriage? Dying.

Some nights when your husband stayed downstairs and you went to bed alone, you’d weep yourself to sleep. It was no way to live a life. In fact, you didn’t even know the first thing about philanthropy or being rich.

You’d come from a small town, bumping into your husband by accident while running errands. He’d won you over with his good looks and charming demeanor. When you moved in with him, however, you soon realized how little he cared about you. Of course, he never hurt you – not physically or verbally. However, his haughty personality and his need to show you around like some trophy-wife were becoming too much.

He expected too much from you.

Whenever you’d fought with him, he’d buy you expensive jewelry or dresses to ease the tension. It never worked.

You feel that slowly, the spark behind your eyes died out. Sooner or later, you’ll join these stuck-up, emotionless robots. All you would care about is money and fame.

“Darling,” you husband calls, snapping his fingers to wake you out of your trance.

Like his lapdog, you turn when beckoned.

“Sorry, what?”

He laughs charmingly.

Oh, how you hated that stupid laugh. It was fake. It didn’t hold any real emotion.

“You seem tired, get some rest for tomorrow.”

One last chance, you think. Tomorrow was the fourth charity event he’d drag you to this week.

“Actually, babe. I was thinking…maybe we could skip tomorrow? Just tomorrow. I was hoping to spend some time with you, you know?” You smile hopefully, setting your wine glass down to hold his arm. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been by your side every day,” he sneers, clearly unhappy about your suggestion.

“And yet you barely even talk to me.” You sigh, screwing your eyes shut to avoid crying in frustration. All you wanted was to revive that initial spark you had with him. “Could you at least come to bed with me tonight?”

Your husband smooths out the sleeve of his white suit. He looks around, noticing that there were a few stragglers tonight. Well, their host certainly couldn’t just leave them.

“Get some rest,” he repeats more sternly. “I’ll be up in a few.”

But of course, you know that he’ll be down here for another three hours.

-

You’ve prepared for this day.

At first, selling whatever jewelry or clothes you didn’t need was just a way to keep money in your savings account. Eventually, putting so much up for sale gave you enough to buy a small house if you really wanted to. Add that up with whatever you had before meeting your husband and you had enough to travel the damn world.

You place an envelope on the nightstand and throw on your backpack. There was a letter for your husband stating you needed some time away – that everything in Chicago was draining the life out of you. He couldn’t make you stay, not that you think he would try to. Perhaps he’ll pick someone else up on the streets. Maybe they could live this life. But not you.

-

You don’t know where you’re headed off to, but you don’t care.

Even stepping foot out of the mansion gave you a sense of utter joy. You felt so free out here. The people outside give you odd looks, wondering what is up with your attire and travel pack, but you pay them no mind. You plug in your earbuds to listen to one of your favorite songs and walk down the driveway. You were sick and tired of the classical music your husband put on 24/7, not that you minded it. It was just repetitive.

It was a cold night in Chicago and you’re well-prepared for it. After stepping out of the cab, you pull your tight-knit cap over your head, laughing mirthfully at the sight of your breath. Others may think that you had gone mad, but there weren’t many out tonight anyway. Besides, You haven’t felt cold since you were back home. Your husband always made sure you were warm, keeping you in the car or in the house when it got chilly. He insisted that a sick wife would be a horrible hostess.

To hell with him.

You decide to buy a ticket all the way to Philadelphia, thanking the exhausted seller along the way. It was a random choice. You’d just chosen whatever you first saw on the screen and ran with it. You wonder if it’ll be nicer farther east. Surely, it was at least more lively than that lonely mansion in Chicago.

You choose a seat in a nearly empty car, wedging your pack between yourself and the window to deter thieves. Sitting in the same car was an elderly couple and a family of five. It was better to be safe than sorry anyway.

The ride is six hours.

Six hours full of thinking and checking your phone that blows up with angry text messages. Some were from your family members, worrying and wondering if you needed therapy for running off. You ignore them, however, and dismiss their worries with an aloof ‘goodbye.’

Pulling out your laptop, you create a word document with a loose plan.

You compile a list of places you could go and where jobs were hiring. You pick out anything and everything that catches your eye.

And then the clearing of a throat startles you.

You realize that the train has stopped so people could get on and off.

A man with shoulder-length brunette hair and a boyish smile looks down at you.

“Mind if I sit?”

You close your laptop warily, taking a quick survey of the car.

The elderly couple was still here, but the family had left. Only one or two people, excluding this man, had gotten on.

“Uhm – why?” you ask sheepishly, clearly suspicious of his intent.

“You’re in my regular seat,” he teases, a lopsided smirk on his face.

One quick scan sends a shock of recognition in your mind. This guy was an Avenger.

What the hell is he doing here?

Shaking the thought away, you gesture to the seat beside you. Who were you to tell off a national icon? He was a hero to many, including yourself. Back when you were a researcher, you followed his case once or twice, not that you would tell him. “Sit then, you big baby.” You smile a bit to show him that you were joking.

Once he’s beside you, you immediately tense up.

He smells like charcoal and sweat. With a quick glance, you realize that the shirt peeking out from underneath his hoodie is stained in red.

You’re too occupied that you don’t notice him staring back. He wonders if you recognize him, and if so, as the Winter Soldier or as Bucky Barnes?

“You could’ve at least gotten cleaned up before joining me,” you mutter, tearing your gaze away. “I get that you’re a superhero and all, but jeez, you smell like crap.”

Bucky lets out a surprised laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So you do know me,” he murmurs. “Well, you sound like my biggest fan.”

“Are all superheroes this arrogant…or?”

The skin around his eyes wrinkle and he grins in amusement. “Fame gets to our heads sometimes. Don’t be afraid to knock me down a peg or two.”

You open back up your laptop and roll your eyes.

Why he chose to bother you, you’re not sure.

“Trust me, I will.”

-

An hour passes and Bucky slowly coaxes you out of your shell. You’ve long since put your laptop away.

Thankful for the lack of people, you prop your feet against the back of another seat, turning only slightly to talk to him.

By now, you’ve told him where you came from and why you left.

He neither agreed nor disagreed to your plan (or lack thereof), which you were grateful for. He simply wished you luck and told you that he’s glad you left such a shitty situation.

“You know,” you start, plopping a potato-chip into your mouth. Bucky raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently for you. Once you’ve swallowed, you rest your chin on your hand, propping your elbow onto the armrest. “I met Tony Stark once at a gala last year.”

“Really?” He’s genuinely curious. “Was he as horrible to you as he is to the rest of my team?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, no. In fact, he tried to save my ass before I even realized I hated my life.” You remember the night so clearly. You remember Tony and how awestruck you were about meeting such an important figure. If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was for that event and encounter. “He offered me his card when my husband wasn’t looking. Told me to find him if I ever got tired of the prissy life and wanted to use my brain for more important things.”

“Like?”

Your mentally slap yourself. “Oh man, I totally forgot to mention.” Never had people in your life actually cared about your interests or your background. The attention always revolved around your husband. It was only natural you left out details when talking about yourself. “I graduated with a biotech degree. I researched under Doctor Helen Cho when I was in grad school.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Bucky says. You were impressive and full of surprises, he’ll give you that. “That’s awesome! Why didn’t you call him up?”

“Well, first off, I threw away the card.” You shrug. “I kind of took it as a joke. I also didn’t wanna bother him. He’s a busy man.”

“Very,” Bucky agrees. He accepts your answer for now, and instead, pulls your attention over to another topic.

-

After a while of exchanging stories and memories (good or bad), Bucky stops talking and instead stares at you in contemplation.

 

“Yes?”

He jolts in surprise, apologizing for spacing out. “I was just wondering…”

“About…?”

“Cho did say that she could use another assistant in the lab…” he draws out, a smirk on his lips.

“False advertising will get you nowhere. I know the security risks of being anywhere near the Avengers.”

“A life of danger is way more exciting than keeping a routine.”

Well, now he was just using your plan against yourself.

“And how do I know you’re not just some freak from a comic convention, cosplaying as one of America’s finest heroes?” You point to your backpack. “And that you’re not just trynna capture me for ransom or somethin?’”

“I’m gonna set aside that you think of me as a ‘fine’ hero, and ask: you really think people could look as tough as me?” he huffs “you wanna smell the blood on my jacket? I guarantee it’s authentic"

“Oh, dude, I’ve been smelling it since you came up to me.” Your nose scrunches up in disgust and he copies you, feigning irritation.

He self-consciously pulls his hoodie down to cover his blood-stained shirt.

He was the real deal, and you knew it.

“trust me, in New York, you can start fresh. It’s not like anyone gives a shit about you there.”

“How reassuring,” you smirk.

-

Your eyes peer over to the screen as the train screeches to a halt.

“That’s our stop,” you announce, nudging him over.

He gets up and offers you a hand, nodding his head. “Yeah, I guess so.” If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he’s disappointed to leave you.

He wonders if he should get your number. No, that was probably weird. You’d just met him. He was a stranger, even if you knew about his title. Still, when your smile drops, he can’t help but think that you’re disappointed in leaving him.

The stop in Philly is hot and humid and Bucky urges you to take off your hat. You do so and he helps stuff it into your backpack. For a moment, he lingers in front of you, unsure of what to say.

It was strange, really. After spending six hours, you knew more about him than you knew of your husband. He leads an interesting life, one that you’d be down for if you weren’t so chicken.

“This is it,” he chuckles nervously, jerking his thumb toward the ticket booth. “I should go buy my ticket. I really hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles wholeheartedly, his metal hand around your arm feels warm, despite its usual temperature. “Please stay safe, okay?”

Still in a daze, you remain silent, nodding your head. When he waits awkwardly, you can only say what comes to mind, which isn’t much to start with.

“You too. Stay safe out there.”

The embarrassed look of realization on your face causes him to bark out a laugh. He turns on his heels, starting for the booth.

He really hopes to see you again someday. Maybe he’ll ask Stark to try to reach out to you.

-

The wait for the next train is awfully long, so Bucky decides to grab coffee first.

It was back to the grind, it seems. Tomorrow, he’ll probably be sent out for another mission.

He sighs in exhaustion, taking a sip of the bitter liquid.

“I should’ve gotten her number,” he grumbles to himself.

He feels someone poke the back of his jacket and he feels sorry for whoever touched it. It was probably riddled with disease. He had to pull it out of a stranger’s car after the mission to cover up the crimson on his shirt.

“About this job opportunity,” a familiar voice calls out.

Bucky turns in shock, eyebrows raised.

You’re somewhat of a mess, most likely from running around and looking for him. You pant slightly, trying to catch your breath as you look up in nervousness.

“How late do you think is too late to apply?” you ask, juggling your weight from one foot to the other.

He sees a ticket to Manhattan in one of your hands and tries to ignore the burst of excitement in his chest.

Without asking, he pulls your backpack and hauls it over his shoulder, nodding towards the platform. Come with me. It doesn’t matter, he wants to say. Instead, he breathes out a content sigh and chuckles.

“Never too late so long as you show ‘em how badly you want it.”

When a look of confidence flashes across your face, he guides you along. For once in his life, he’s thrilled about a new change.

This could be good.

For both of you.


End file.
